


what (who) are you doing new year's eve?

by spidermanhomecomeme



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends to Lovers, New Year's Eve, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Peter and MJ are social distancing together, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roommates, Some plot if you squint, Vaginal Fingering, it's set during corona time, slightly dom!Peter, unintentional/intentional edging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme
Summary: There's been a change to all the New Year's Eve traditions this year, given the raging pandemic currently ravaging the world. Funnily enough, MJ doesn't seem to mind breaking them. For one, she's not going out. Two, she's not dressed up.And three? Well, she's pretty sure she's not gettingkissedat midnight.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 23
Kudos: 108





	what (who) are you doing new year's eve?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MichellesBoh (michellesbohh)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellesbohh/gifts).



> Happy birthday friend! enjoy some spice that ended up being spicier than i planned!!

This New Year’s Eve is, for lack of a better word, _weird_.

Sure, there’s nothing bad about sitting at home, eating way too much junk food while watching TV, curled up on the couch with her favorite fuzzy socks and wrapped in the softest blanket she owns while the world gets drunk for the last thirty minutes of the year. In fact, Michelle doesn’t think she’ll ever go back to the old ways of party hopping in freezing cold weather after watching everyone else suffer. She might even go to sleep before midnight this year.

But...

If Michelle sees one more of those shitty, blurry, _drunk_ Instagram stories of too-crowded parties, one more picture of those virus Petri dishes they call a “small get together of just our inner circle,” that shows way more than ten people, she might scream.

There’s a _reason_ she’s home on New Year’s Eve—and a good one. The same reason that everyone in the world should be staying home instead of partying it up, breathing each other’s air and swapping saliva. 

Pandemics just be like that.

With a tired sigh, she drops her phone face down on the arm of the couch, rolling her shoulders as she fixes her gaze on Ryan Seacrest.

“Your hot chocolate, m’lady.”

The couch dips beside her, and she turns to glare at the boy—her stupid, dumb, _cute_ roommate—as he hands her one of the more punny mugs from their cabinet. 

Specifically, the one he bought for her twenty-first birthday. 

The one that reads, _what the fucculent?_

(It also happens to be her favorite.)

She blinks as he stares innocently back. 

“What?” He asks, a teasing edge to his tone that she’d never admit releases a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. “Do you… not want hot chocolate?”

“You say that word again and I’m moving out,” she deadpans, desperately biting back the way her mouth wants to tug upward into a grin. 

Peter snorts, nodding quietly, hiding his smile behind a sip of hot chocolate. 

A beat passes, and she can feel herself matching his expression. She presses her lips together, fighting it. 

“I mean, technically it’s _two words,”_ Peter mutters under his breath, a laugh bubbling from his chest. “But okay.”

His smile stays even as she smacks him on the arm. 

And so does hers. 

It’s not like she can help it, really. All these past nine months have taught her is that one, people cannot follow simple directions—wearing a mask, staying six feet apart, etc.—and two, is that she’s got a little more than just a crush on her stupidly hot roommate. Though it’s always been a truth universally acknowledged that Peter Parker is a snack-and-a-half, it’s never been something that’s really affected her. She’s never had to think about it. 

But now, trapped in an apartment with him for nine straight months, it’s a wonder she’s still in one piece. 

And it wasn’t even just those good-looks, that sometimes mischievous, sometimes warm smile, that Olympian God-like body that got her. 

It was the way he’d always make her favorite tea before she was even on hour-two of her Zoom class marathons on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was the way he’d pick take-out up for her when he knew she’d be having a late night studying. It was the way he’d hold her as she stress-cried from all the extra work her professors seemed to be throwing at her, his hands drawing soothing lines over her back. 

Really, she never had a chance. 

She’d nearly died the first time she caught him just out of the shower. 

Like a dear in really well-defined headlights. 

“MJ? You good?”

Peter’s voice nearly knocks her from the couch and on her ass when she realizes she’s been staring at him—said well-defined headlights—as she holds her mug of hot chocolate close to her chest. 

Michelle recoils, brows furrowing in confusion that’s not the least bit too defensive—no, sir—as she scoffs. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

“You were just…” He gestures vaguely to her, something in his tone that she almost thinks is nervousness. 

Almost. 

“Staring at me,” he breathes out a laugh. 

Her lips tug into an impassive frown as she shrugs, glancing left and right. “Uh. Nope. No I wasn’t.”

His eyes narrow at her, the playfulness in his gaze making her stomach feel warm. 

“Do I have something on my face?” He asks, though his smile says that he’s still teasing her. 

_“Yeah. Me,”_ is what she _wants_ to say. 

Instead, she shakes her head, lips stubbornly pressing together as she lets out a simple, “Nope.”

She can feel his eyes on her as she goes to take a pointedly quiet sip of her hot chocolate, his gaze burning into her in a way that’s both exhilarating and nerve wracking. She worries for a moment that he’s onto her, that he’s somehow caught on to her fleeting, yet longing glances, her nervous chuckles, her shy smiles.

His lips twist into a skeptical grin as he looks at her. It makes her stomach flip, seeing from the corner of her eye the way he takes his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily. 

A silence falls between them, one that makes her heart race, her hands sweat. One that causes a warmth not from the hot chocolate to bloom within her, spreading to her face. Part of her wonders how bad it could be, taking a chance, taking that dive. Yes, the worst he could say is, “no,” but also… He could say, “no.” Truthfully, she’s not sure if that’s worth ruining the friendship. 

But in all honesty, she can’t help but feel like he won’t say that. There’s been this weird, unspoken thing, at least she thinks, between them. Sure, it all feels as though she’s the only one experiencing this eternal torment—this torment of chiseled abs and a dynamite personality—but there have been times where she’s wondered if she’s seeing things, catching Peter looking at her, seeing his never fading smile when he thinks she’s not looking. 

Touches and smiles that have lasted too long…

His flirty teasing, the way his touch sparks across her skin, even through the material of her worn hoodie. 

“It’s gotta be something on my face,” Peter’s joking voice yanks her back to the present once again.

Her mouth hands open in surprise for a moment before clamping shut. She stares at him, brow furrowing briefly as she takes a moment’s consideration for what she’s about to do. 

“Yeah. _Me,”_ is what she says. 

She hates them—she really does—the words as they come out of her mouth. 

But honestly, she can’t be too mad as her lips press against his, the way he grunts in surprise before almost immediately melting into her. 

The moment, however, is short-lived, because Peter seems to be completely incapably of holding back the giggle that bubbles up out of him as he pulls away. He stays close, close enough that she could almost count every freckle scattered across his nose and cheeks, the way the corners of his eyes are crinkling with how hard he’s trying to hold back his laughter. 

In spite of the nerves in her gut, she can’t fight her own smile. “What?” She finally asks. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” His hand on her cheek lowers to her shoulder, down to her hand resting over her thigh. “—but… that just sounded like something _I_ would say.”

Michelle tries her best to glare at him, to force her smile into a deadpan expression. “Shut up,” is all she can muster in reply. 

“You’ve been hanging out with me too much,” Peter says fondly. 

“Cleary,” she quips back. 

A beat passes, the both of them seeming to realize—at the same time—what just happened, what line that had been crossed. There’s a moment where all they do is look at eachother, the noises of Ryan Seacrest and Lucy Hale on the TV drowned in the warmth of this fuzzy atmosphere they’ve created. 

“So, uh—” Peter chuckles breathily, scratching the back of his neck. “You, uh—kissed me.” 

Michelle lets out a sudden snort. “Uh-huh.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Peter’s mouth, and she finds herself wanting to kiss it. 

“Cool,” he breathes, nodding, trying to appear casual, it seems. His cheeks are tinted in a shade of pink she thinks is impossibly cute. “So uh—was that for… for any particular reason?” 

Michelle’s lips twist as she bites the inside of her cheek. “I mean—” She shrugs, tearing her gaze away to stare down at her hands. “Yeah?” She finally says, her eyes flitting back up to meet his, her stomach flipping at the way he’s looking at her.

“A good reason?” 

The laugh that comes out of her is beyond her control. “Yeah.” 

She mentally kicks herself for all these one word answers, but she can’t help it.

Peter’s smile somehow widens. “That’s great.” He glances down, watching as one of his hands takes hers. “I’ve been thinking about doing that… For awhile now,” he admits, lacing their fingers together. “Like, for a long time,” he chuckles. 

The warmth already in her face grows at least a million times hotter, her cheeks aching from how much she’s grinning. She almost can’t believe it—not like she can’t believe someone would reciprocate feelings, but the idea that something that had only been her active imagination was suddenly so real. 

A smile tugs at her lips as she glances at the TV, seeing twenty minutes left in the year. “Beat you to it, I guess.”

“Damn,” Peter says, not a single ounce of disappointment in his tone. And she thinks he’s going to say something, to add some dumb, silly joke that’ll only make her smile grow. But instead, his hand comes to rest on the back of her neck, and he pulls her to him, capturing her lips in a kiss that makes her wonder if her insides might actually be melting.

It’s dizzying, how soft his lips feel against hers, how warm his hands are as they rest on her cheeks, the gentle brush of his thumbs over her skin making her heart do backflips. His touch sends thousands of tiny jolts of electricity throughout her skin, especially has his hands trail down to her shoulders, her arms, settling on her waist, the weight of them comforting in a way. 

She doesn’t quite know how it happens, but she finds herself laying back against the couch, pulling him on top of her. It could be the way his thumb had oh so sneakily slid under the hem of her t-shirt, smoothing over her hip. Or the way his tongue had slipped into her mouth, swiping across her lip in a way that had her moaning breathily against him. 

_It’s easier this way,_ she reasons, as she lays flat on her back, a soft sigh spilling from her lips as his drag along her jaw, down to her neck; as his hands continue to ever so slightly push up the bottom of her shirt, fingers splaying across the bare skin of her lower stomach. 

And for the _nth_ time that night, she can’t help but smile. 

She also decides that kissing Peter might be one of her new favorite pastimes. 

Almost instinctively, her legs wrap around his waist, locking him in and drawing him close, and she gasps at the feeling of _him_ pressing against her. Her fingers wind their way into his hair, taking fistfuls of his curls as he continues to acquaint himself with her neck, sucking and nipping gently, smiling into her skin. 

She could almost get lost in the feeling of his lips traveling her skin, of his touch as his hands travel under her shirt, ghostlike over her ribs. He pauses, not going any further, a hesitation that she hasn’t seen yet in his movements. Her lips find his again again in a searing kiss as she arches her back, pressing her chest against his, one of her hands coming up to guide him. 

Peter sighs against her as one of his hands cups her bare breast underneath her shirt, the weight of him warm and tender. Michelle can’t help the shaky exhale that spills from her lips as his thumb swipes over her hardening nipple, his movements calculated as he kneads and massages her soft skin. 

When he breaks this kiss, she can’t help but whine, her eyes opening to find him looking at her, his other hand gently tugging at the hem of her shirt. “Can I?” he asks, swallowing. 

The words won’t come out, dammit, but she nods quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly. 

But, fuck it. 

An airy, easy grin breaks across Peter’s features. It’s almost sinful, the way he’s smiling at her as he bends back down, bunching her shirt up above her chest, and she almost hisses at the cold air of the apartment touching her hot skin. There’s a hunger in his eyes as he stares down at her, drinking her in; one that makes her squirm—in quite possibly the best way. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect, Em,” He breathes, diving back down with a speed she hadn’t known he’d been capable of. 

The laugh that bubbles out of her is breathy, cut off as he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling it with his tongue. And he seems like he could sit there forever, his kisses along her breasts almost reverent, his lips and tongue dragging along her skin setting a pulsing ache in her center, a heady rush of blood in her ears. 

She barely registers Mr. Seacrest saying that there’s fifteen minutes until the ball drops, but she doesn’t care. 

Fuck New Year’s Eve. 

Fuck this year. 

_This_ is all that matters. 

Her brain nearly short-circuits though, feeling one of Peter’s hands come down to play with the waistband of her sweatpants. She stiffens. 

“Is this okay?” Peter breathes into her skin. 

Again, she nods—perhaps a little too enthusiastically. She swallows, doing everything she can not to just beg him to get a move on. “Yeah. Yeah. Go for it,” she replies lamely. 

He chuckles, a sound that makes her smile. 

Though, she seems to lose all control of her facial muscles when Peter’s hand immediately dips past the waistband of both her sweats and the trim of her cotton underwear, her mouth falling open in a quiet sigh of _finally_ as he swipes a finger through her slit. 

Peter’s mouth returns to her neck, placing a gentle kiss on the underside of her jaw as his finger dips down again to coat itself in the wetness gathered at her entrance. He sucks in a harsh breath, smiling into her. 

“So wet, Em,” he praises. “Is this all for me?” 

She almost laughs, choking on the sound as she nods. “Probably,” she finds it in herself to joke. 

His breathy chuckle makes her chest flutter. 

“Probably?” He asks as he swirls her arousal around her clit, taking his bottom lip between his teeth when she involuntarily arches into him again at the touch. 

It’s a fruitless endeavor, trying to carry on this simple conversation while he works her heat—even as gently as he is. She huffs out a breathless laugh. “What can I say? Ryan Seacrest gets me going.” 

Peter’s laugh this time is harder, and he buries his face into the crook of her neck as he shakes, his ministrations on her clit faltering for just a moment. 

And when he pulls back, there’s a look in his eyes, a warmth that makes her feel as if she’s melting into a puddle of goo. 

Disgusting. 

“I really like you,” he says earnestly, the softness in his tone a contrast to the pressure he adds to her clit. 

Her mouth falls open, a choked gasp slipping from her lips. “I really like you, too,” she somehow, miraculously, manages. 

And before she’s even finished her sentence, Peter’s lips are crashing against her once again. There’s something new to this, a heated urgency that makes the coil in the pit of her stomach impossibly tighten. The kiss is searing, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer, the heat pooling within her burning hot as he continues to circle her clit with his fingers. 

It’s just within reach, that sweet release. She’s _so close_ , and she has to break the kiss, her head falling back as her eyes screw shut. 

But then, just as she’s about to hit that peak, Peter pulls his hand away.

And she might actually hit him. 

“What the fuck?” She asks, eyes opening only to glare at him. “Peter!”

“Sorry!” Peter swears, though there’s a teasing smile tugging at his lips as he pulls his hand from her pants. “Sorry, I just—” He glances around, lingering on the TV that says there’s ten minutes left, before leaning forward to kiss the furrow in her brows. 

Maybe she can’t stay mad at him. 

“I just had an idea.” 

She raises a single brow at him, but before she can ask, he’s scooting back on the couch, sneaking down her body. 

_Oh._

He looks up at her from between her thighs, and it’s a sight that makes her head swim. His eyes are wide, the silent question hanging between them as he hooks his thumbs under the waist band of her sweats and underwear. 

“Is this okay?” He repeats from earlier, and her heart soars at the gentleness in his expression. 

She nods, lips pressing into a smile, a giddiness that she can’t hide poking through. 

It’s so sudden, the way the gentleness melts into mischief. His eyes never break from hers as he plants a slow kiss on her lower stomach, as he tugs her pants down her legs, helping her to kick them off. She can feel the way he’s holding himself back with how he moves, with how much he takes his time as he prises her legs apart, hooking one over his shoulder, pushing the other off the couch. 

“So fucking perfect,” He breathes again, his eyes trailing from her center, dragging along her body, to her face, a wicked smile tugging at his lips. 

She swallows, joking, “You already said that.”

“And I’ll keep saying it.” He huffs out a laugh, keeping eye contact as he plants a too-gentle kiss to her still sensitive clit, smiling as she sucks in a breath. 

He doesn’t waste any more of their time, licking a long, flat stripe up her center, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tastes her. And she thinks she might die, hearing and feeling him moan so openly against her as his tongue swirls her entrance, teasingly dipping in too briefly before sliding up to her clit. 

She’d always had a feeling that Peter would be good at this, judging from how his nighttime guests were more than vocal about their approval. But to say that she’d expected it to feel _this good_ , to feel better than her countless daydreams… 

God, she’s almost mad at them for not doing this sooner. 

“You taste so good, Em.”

Her train of thought is quickly derailed, however, when he takes her clit into his mouth, sucking gently as his finger teases her entrance. It’s all building again, back to where she was, as he groans at the feeling of how easily he slides into her, her brain turning into mush as he curls his finger, slowly fucking in and out. 

It’s intoxicating, when he adds a second, burying them into her cunt, his rhythm matching her erratic breaths. One of her hands clutches and kneads her breast, the other flying to grip onto his curls, subconsciously pushing his face into her heat. She feels him almost smile as she starts to grind against him, her head thrown back against the pillow, soft sighs and moans spilling form her lips as he works her over. 

“Peter—” his name comes out in a choked gasp as she twists his hair. “I’m— _fuck_ —I’m close—”

But he pulls his hand out of her, popping off of her clit with a faint—not at all guilty—smile. He glances to the TV, and before she can say anything else, before she can yell at him or hit him or anything at all, he’s touching her again—his movements sluggish, lazy even. Achingly slow. 

There’s no question as to whether or not he’s doing this on purpose, the little shit, or that he’s enjoying it. 

Though, really, she’d be lying if she’d say that she isn’t. At least a little bit.

But that doesn’t mean she won’t kill him if he does it again. 

Soon, he picks his pace back up, and she feels herself teetering closer and closer to that edge once again. Her breathing quickens, her heart thundering in her ears as she feels the heat pooling within her start to run over. He’s insistent as he sucks her clit, as he pumps in and out of her. Her face burns hot at the sounds of her arousal cutting through the air as he fucks her with his fingers, the sounds of her own moans that he coaxes from her. 

She won’t tell him she’s close this time. 

No, she’ll let it sneak up on him. 

But—as she cracks her eyes open, meeting the heat in his gaze—she realizes perhaps, that she should have known better. 

This time, as he pulls back, she whines—she actually whines. It’s completely involuntary, an almost pathetic sound, but she can’t find it in herself to care as the frustration bubbles out of her. 

“Peter! God—” She curses, an inexplicable laugh coming from her when she meets his smile. “Fuck, just let me come. Jesus Christ. _Please.”_

Her head falls back against the pillow again as she groans in frustration. 

“Nuh uh.” 

Peter’s denial as he kisses the inside of her thigh has her looking up—down—at him again. 

“Uh…” She narrows her eyes at him. “Why?” 

There’s a borderline sheepish grin—though really, just from these past few minutes with him, nothing he ever does in the _bedroom department_ could ever be considered _sheepish_ —on his face as he glances between her and the TV.

She shifts, unable to help herself at the sight of his chin glistening with _her._

“There’s still two minutes.” 

Her brow furrows. “Two minutes till what?” 

“Till midnight. The new year.” 

And the snicker that comes out of him makes her eyes roll back into her head—in the fondest way. “You cheesy fuck.”

Peter only throws her a sly wink before dipping back in, his lips trailing along her thighs, along her lips, up and down her slit, leaving heated kisses. 

“Can you hold off till then?” He asks, his hand resting on her thigh, thumb smoothing over her skin. The softness of the gesture is overshadowed, however, by the way his tongue flattens against her clit. 

She doesn’t answer, only huffing in a mix of what can be described as frustration and exhilaration as he falls back against the couch. She won’t lie, the idea that his only goal is to make her come at exactly midnight is… not bad. 

A shuddering breath spills from her when he goes back to sucking on her swollen bundle of nerves, his two fingers—still wet from earlier—going back to teasingly circling her entrance. 

“You’re doing so well, Em,” he praises against her cunt, languidly kissing her clit, his tongue swirling over it in a way that makes her eyes screw shut. “So fucking good,” he continues as his fingers slide into her again, crooking _so perfectly_ against her spot. 

And it’s quick, how she feels it the rising heat in the pit of her stomach all over again, how it builds to that same place. His name comes out in strangled, wet moans, as he works her heat even more, and she swears that this has something to do with his dumb powers, because how he can be this good is mind boggling. 

His pace is purposefully uneven, keeping her just on that edge, teetering dangerously, and she finds herself wriggling against him, her breaths coming out ragged and urgent. 

And when she finally hears that damn countdown start, she thanks God herself. 

_Ten._

Peter’s free hand takes hers trapped in his curls, intertwining their fingers together and squeezing. 

_Nine._

He mutters incoherent praises against her, words that she can’t hear, but _feel._

_Eight._

His pace quickens—

_Seven._

—as he sucks harshly on her clit, his fingers pumping in and out of her. 

_Six._

She feels her stomach tighten, her muscles twitching—

_Five._

—as jolts of warm, molten electricity pulse from her head to the tips of her toes.

_Four._

Her grip on his hand tightens, and he squeezes back, the vibrations of his voice as he moans against her making her dizzy. 

_Three._

“Fuck, Peter—” She curses breathlessly, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she throws her head back. 

_Two_.

And with one more curl of his fingers, with one more swipe of his tongue over her clit—

_One!_

—Michelle comes with a shout of Peter’s name, gasping wetly as he continues to lavish her heat, working her through the white hot waves of her orgasm. She swears her vision’s gone out, seeing nothing but stars when she opens her eyes. Slowly, his touch grows gentle, his wet fingers resting against her thigh, his mouth releasing her clit, leaving a soft, tender kiss in its place. His lips drag up her stomach, just under her ribs—he smiles when she squirms here—in the valley between in breasts. 

“Hi,” he says, wiping his mouth on his arm as he hovers above her, glowing pink. 

She’s still breathless from what might have possibly been the hardest she’s ever come, but she doesn’t care. A wavy smile tugs at her lips. “Hi,” she repeats back, unable to control the scratchiness in her voice. 

He leans in, kissing her sweetly, and for a moment, she melts into it, before a thought suddenly has her snickering to herself. 

Peter pulls back, brow winkled curiously. “What?” He asks, smiling down at her. 

“You know,” she muses, reaching up to smooth back his curls, her thumb brushing over the wayward hairs of his messy brow. “I just had a thought,” she whispers. 

He grins easily. “What?”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever actually tried to be on time for something.”

He snorts, hanging his head to hide his laugh as she lays, thoroughly amused, underneath him. 

She opens her mouth to speak again, to tease him more, before his effectively cutting her off with another tender kiss. She can feel him smiling against her, her chest blooming with warmth as his thumb grazes her cheek. 

“Only for you,” he jokes when he pulls back again. 

It’s Michelle’s turn to laugh suddenly. 

He kisses her cheek, lingering for a moment. 

“Happy New Year,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. 

And the happiness that she feels is unparalleled. She smiles freely, reaching up to kiss him again. 

“Happy New Year.”

**Author's Note:**

> oop


End file.
